


And We’ll Be Chasing the Sun

by OriginalCeenote



Series: Be My Guest [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Demon Clint Barton, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More Extreme Cuddling, Spontaneous Bouts of Zumba, Still no smut, moderate angst, the real price of demon summoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 16:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15198818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: Sometimes, the price for summoning a demon for cuddle sessions is Zumba at random times of day.





	And We’ll Be Chasing the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Here. Have some more nonsense. I love the comments that you left on the last installment. Thank you so much.

The world looked different when you knew that you were damned. Sharper edges. Unbalanced. Even the most mundane tasks carried risk. Anxious thoughts ran through Bucky’s mind like the background hum of a hard drive. _Why did I bring this down on my head? What the hell was I thinking? I lived a decent life. I didn’t kick any dogs. I didn’t really cheat on my taxes. Much._

Yet, summoning Clint and incurring that debt had been surprisingly… liberating.

Bucky didn’t have to shove everything down anymore. Because Clint saw _everything_ , and he heard all of the things Bucky couldn’t bring himself to say.

Like, take three days ago.

*

Bucky immediately felt guilty about the drool. 

He woke up stiff in all the wrong places, but his head was full of muzzy, contented warmth. He groaned at the slight crick in his neck from the uncommon position of sleeping with his head propped against… oh.

Okay.

Soft snores stirred the fringes of Bucky’s sweat-dampened hair, and the heavy arm slung around his back twitched sharply, pulling him more tightly against Clint, for a moment, and Bucky realized that he’d fallen asleep on his rent-a-demon houseguest.

“Holy crap,” Bucky muttered before he realized it might be rude to wake him up. But Clint just kept snoring. He was knocked out, and miraculously, still wearing his assumed human form. His blond hair was tousled and flying in five different directions. His mouth was slightly open, and his brows kept beetling in his sleep.

It was adorable. 

Bucky’s bangs were mashed flat from burrowing his forehead against the column of Clint’s throat while he slept, and his lower arm had fallen asleep from tucking it up against Clint’s side, but despite those discomforts, Bucky felt rested and clearheaded, even though the awkwardness of the situation was beginning to set in. Waking up to a stranger, one that’d summoned using his own _blood_ , let’s remember, was a lot to unpack.

Clint was still wearing Bucky’s shirt and boxers, and the hem of the shirt rode up, exposing his belly. Those perfect abs stared back at Bucky, just as tempting as they were before. Bucky reached down and gently tugged it back into place, covering him up, because the sight of that bare skin was a little too appealing. He almost regretted not lending him a pair of long sweats instead, because his legs were exposed, tapered, muscular enough to make Bucky’s mouth water, and somehow, Bucky figured it might be some violation of etiquette in host human/summoned demon relations if he stared him awake. Or worse, gave in to the siren call of all that bare skin. _Pull it together, Barnes._

Bucky realized why he’d been sweating, though. Clint had covered them with the throw blanket that he kept on the couch. He’d tucked him in pretty nicely, too. The television was off, and the remote control rested in its customary spot on the coffee table. The faint scent of candles still lingered in the air, and Bucky was grateful that he’d remembered to blow them out, and that he didn’t end up accidentally burning the apartment down. It was so strange to wake up to company. Not unwelcome. It just created cognitive dissonance in his head to know that he’d done something so potentially harmful to himself in bringing Clint into his world, yet he managed to feel so _good_ about it.

He knew he ruined it a little when Clint frowned again in his sleep, groaned and yawned; Bucky stared him awake after all. _Shit._

“Hey. Gonna keep watchin’ me like a hawk there, Bucko? I ain’t goin’ anywhere unless you send me away.”

“What? Oh. No. No, no. I- not yet. That’s all right, isn’t it? Unless… you have to go to.. Work?”

Clint continued to stretch, but he kept one arm locked around Bucky while the other extended over his head. Bucky listened to his joints snap and pop, then yawned himself in response to watching Clint do it. Both of them had the _worst_ morning breath, but he wouldn’t be too picky just yet about hygiene. “I don’t have anywhere that I have to be. Not yet. You put the dime in this little jukebox, buddy. The song’s not up yet. How did you sleep?”

“Oh, man. Clint. Like a baby. It was _great._ ” 

Clint returned his smile, all lazy and soft. “That’s what I like to hear. Attaboy, Buck. You don’t look as worn around the edges as you did last night. Hey. That’s a thing with you, huh? You don’t sleep?”

Bucky’s smile faltered. “Not much.”

“Awww. That’s… that sucks, buddy. You mortals need sleep. I don’t make the rules. We’ve gotta work on that.”

“I feel better today.”

Clint chuckled, a pleasant, rusty sound. Maybe it was just the hoarseness that sleep had brought, but the sound licked over Bucky’s nerve endings, and he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth again. “That’s better,” Clint murmured. “You need to do that more often.”

“It’s hard, sometimes.”

“Yeah. I get that about you, somehow. Hey, what’s for breakfast?”

“Uh. Oh. Shit. Let me look.” It came back to Bucky that Clint mentioned last night that he stopped for pizza after one of his last jobs. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“I can go for a while without.”

“How long?”

“Weeks, in human time.”

“No! God, Clint, no! I wouldn’t- I would never starve you, okay? Oh, my God!” Bucky pried himself loose (reluctantly) and hurried into the kitchen.

“I know you wouldn’t, Bucky. It’s no big deal. I mean, I could eat. I was just asking because… I figured you haven’t eaten yet, either.”

While Bucky was rummaging through his cupboards, almost on cue, his stomach growled audibly. 

“I heard that.”

“I wasn’t, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, what do I even have, I didn’t really go shopping- Clint? Would it be the worst thing if I ordered some takeout?”

“What’re you getting worked up about?” Clint got up and wandered into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway. His hair was still sticking up, and the boxers rode up a little between his thighs, smothering the bulge there in bunched cotton. He looked entirely too appealing for Bucky to handle now.

“I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t ready for guests, I’m sorry.”

“Hey. It’s no big deal. We can order in. Did this really upset you? You seem upset. And believe me,” Clint told him, and Bucky knew he was about to go off on one of his tangents again. It was a Clint Thing, “I know ‘upset.’ Kinda typical in my line of work, if ya know what I mean.”

Bucky was still going through his cabinets. “I’ve got the last of the frosted mini-wheats. And some rice Chex. Nobody ever finishes the whole box of rice Chex. Ever notice that? And Steve left behind this granola, but it’s the funky Sunbelt brand, it tastes like lightly sweetened wood shavings-”

“No shit,” Clint agreed. “I’ve eaten worse, though.”

Bucky didn’t doubt that, somehow. Yet, he didn’t want to ponder it. _Moving on._

“I could make eggs. Wait, never mind. I don’t have eggs. No milk either, so. Yeah. Nix the cereal.”

“That takeout idea sounds fine, I’m thinking. Kinda sounding better all the time, if it’ll get you to calm down.”

“What?”

“You’re adrenaline’s spiking. And your aura’s all out of whack. It’s like somebody flicked on the highbeams.”

Bucky set down the depleted box of rice Chex. He knew it was stale without even tasting a piece, no doubt the same box that Steve bought a couple of days before he left. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how it works. I mean, you’re my guest-”

“Servant,” Clint corrected him. “Technically, I’m your servant. You know that, right? The way this bargain works, you ask me to do a thing. And then, I do the thing. And from what I know about you already, your needs aren’t gonna include me doing backflips or committing too many felonies. I mean, they _could_.” Clint gave Bucky a knowing smirk. “Just say the word, Bucky.”

“That just seems so… really? I guess I went into this with the wrong assumption.”

“You know what happens when you assume,” Clint reminded him dryly. “But, yeah. Let’s talk this out. What did you think would happen?”

“I was scared. I mean, not so scared that I didn’t do it.”

“Yeah. Go, you.”

Bucky bit his lip, suddenly sheepish, but he powered through. “I guess I thought I would have to appease you.”

“No. _Dude_. Other way around. I mean, it’s different if you summon an Elder Demon, or a higher order being. We’re talking a more comprehensive sacrifice, too, and that might not work with your sensibilities, buddy boy. There’s always a cost when you summon one of my kind, Bucky, but once you summon me, I’m here to serve.”

“Serve. Like. All the time?”

“Well, that’s the thing. Once in a while, I need a break. I need to go dormant. And to go dormant, I have to return to the void.”

Bucky paled.

“Ooh. Hey. Don’t panic. Don’t do that.” Clint hurried over and took Bucky’s upper arms. “Hey. Bucky. Don’t let your mind wander in that direction, okay? I am what I am. Can’t help it. Not gonna try to help it. And, not your problem. Okay? Okay? Please, tell me you’re okay.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Clint felt the shudder run through him. 

“You’re worried about the outcome of what you did,” Clint asked him simply. “Right?”

Bucky made a helpless noise, and his face went bleak. 

“Yup. There goes your adrenaline again. Hey, c’mere. Come here a sec. Let me do my job.” Clint pulled Bucky against him and… _oh._

The spike in his heart rate subsided, tapering down, and the hectic chills that suffused his body suddenly drifted away. Clint felt solid and warm. Oh, he felt so warm. Bucky’s arms crept around his waist, and there it was again. That soft, sweet peace and feeling of safety. Bucky’s breathing slowed to match the pace of Clint’s, and he found his equilibrium restored. 

Which made no goddamned sense at all. Bucky had seen Clint in his true form. Massive and fearsome. Hewn from the stuff of nightmares, all sharp edges and venomous, glowing yellow eyes.

Yet, the guy’s cuddling game was on _point_.

“So. Here’s what we’re gonna do, Bucko. I’m gonna borrow more of your clothes.”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, now that the tension eased out of his jaw, allowing it to unlock.

“And I’m gonna go get breakfast. Whatever you want.”

“My wallet’s on my dresser.”

“Need another minute?”

Bucky nodded emphatically. His arms tightened around Clint, and he was rewarded by the feel of Clint’s fingers combing through his hair.

“That’s fine. Pfffftt… Seriously. Easiest damned assignment I’ve ever had.”

*

Bucky almost regretted walking home so fast. The sky was gorgeous, a perfect shade of blue with only a few wispy clouds and just enough breeze to make the leaves dance overhead, throwing their lacy shadows over the pavement. But his feet didn’t slow their steps as he walked inside and climbed the stairs. 

He had someone to come home to, again. Even if he was only visiting.

Bucky’s neighbor, Logan, came out of his apartment just as Bucky reached the landing, donning his Stetson before he locked up. “Hey, Barnes. What’s going on? You have company, or something?”

“Yeah. Houseguest. From out of town.”

Logan chuckled, nodding. His amusement made that fine webbing of wrinkles crease around his blue eyes, giving him an Eastwood-esque charm. “Figured as much. Guy sure likes his music when you’re gone.”

“Music?” A knot of worry curled itself in Bucky’s stomach.

“Yeah. Sounds like a disco in your apartment. Or maybe that shit’s reggaeton. I dunno. I’m not into what the kids listen to these days. Give me Johnny Cash anyday.”

“Whatever floats your boat. I’ll, uh. Talk to him.”

“Just a heads-up. Hey, it’s good seeing you out and about. How have you been feelin’?”

“Decent. Been worse.”

Logan nodded, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good. I was a little worried for you when Rogers left. Didn’t wanna intrude, but I’m glad you’re managing. Y’know, if ya ever need anything, don’t be shy. Just knock on my door, okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Bucky told him casually, giving him a smile that he hoped said “friendly” instead of “get the fuck out of here with that shit.” Logan nodded at him and headed downstairs, waving as he turned away. And just as Logan retreated, Bucky heard the music suddenly blast its way through the closed door.

“Holy _shit._ That’s- okay. Okay. C’mon, Clint, don’t do this to me, my landlord sucks!” Bucky muttered as panic jolted him into setting down the paper grocery bag so he could fish his keys out of his pocket. 

Bucky realized, to his horror, that it was _dubstep_.

“Oh, God! Clint! CLINT! Open up, buddy! We need to talk!” Bucky kicked the door with the scuff of his sole, hands shaking as he fiddled with his keys. _Fuck_. There was no way he wanted to deal with Brock today. Or _any day_.

Just when Bucky found his key and managed to cram it into the lock, his across-the-hall neighbor, Wanda, poked her head out the door. She looked harried and upset. “James? What’s going on? Is that coming from your apartment?”

“God, Wanda… I’m sorry. I have a houseguest, and I just got back from work and from getting food, and it took me longer than… never mind. I’m sorry.”

Her expression let up a notch. “Maybe tell your friend to turn down the volume just a skosh. I just got the boys to bed.” Wanda didn’t have Bucky’s brand of anxiety keeping her up at night, but she did have two one-year-old boys who fulfilled that role in her life. Bucky knew how precious naps could be, either way.

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Have a good night, Bucky.” She offered him a brief smile. “Good to see you out and about.”

Bucky huffed as she disappeared back behind her door and did up her deadbolts. Bucky turned back to his door, and before he could turn the knob, the door was yanked out of his grasp. Clint stood there, grinning back at him and wearing Bucky’s UMASS Amherst t-shirt and a pair of ripped up jeans from the back of the closet that he forgot he even owned. “Just in time,” Clint told him above the music, which was to say he was _shouting at the top of his lungs_.

“Clint, buddy. Hey. We need to talk about this-”

“Talk later! Dance first!”

“WHAT?!”

“You heard me!”

“WHAT!?”

Clint ushered him inside and took the grocery bag from his hands, setting it onto the couch. Then, he grabbed Bucky and dragged him toward the TV screen.

“All you have to do is follow along. God, you humans know how to party. And, guess what? It’s good for your BUTT!”

Bucky found himself standing transfixed as Clint followed along with the dancer, dressed in urban-looking workout gear and kicks, leading a zumba routine to a song with a fat bass beat.

“Zumba?”

“Heck, yeah! C’mon, just throw yourself into it!” Bucky opened his mouth, about to tell Clint to turn down the volume, and he realized that Clint wired the stereo through the TV and turned on the bass boost. This wasn’t gonna do at all.

But there he was, with that cheeky grin, shaking his hips and pedaling his fists like Travolta. Bucky watched him switch to a samba step, surprisingly skilled and coordinated.

“How did you learn how to do that?”

“I’ve got eyes, and I’ve got rhythm, pal! C’mon! Don’t just stand there like a stick in the mud!”

“I have to turn it down! My neighbors are gonna kill me!”

“C’mon, Buck! Just feel it for a minute! You need this!”

“I don’t need to be evicted!”

“Awwwww! Okay, we’ll turn it down, but don’t miss out on this!” Clint shoulder-checked Bucky and urged him to shake his hips. “C’mon. Loosen up. If you bend your knees, it’s easier to move your hips! Just like Shakira!”

“I don’t- Clint. I can’t dance like Shakira!”

“Not too many can, pal! Just call it goals! Ah, I love this one!” The song changed. It sounded like Lil’ Jon this time, and Bucky knew Wanda would fly across the hallway to wring his neck after the first “EEEYEAAAHHH!” if he didn’t turn the speakers down. Bucky rushed to the stereo and turned off the bass boost. His eardrums thanked him, and his heart tried to return to a normal beat. He was flushed and frustrated, but Clint was still radiating energy and… 

Joy.

“C’mon, Bucky! Aw, don’t look like that! Was that too much?”

“Volume. Can’t crank the volume. My landlord is a prick.”

“Eh. Yeah. The guy with the crazy eyebrows? Looks like Willem Dafoe and Angelica Huston had hate sex?”

Bucky nearly choked.

“Yeah,” Clint confirmed to himself, “I saw him. Guy’s a real pip.”

“Don’t let him see _you_. He’s… not great.”

“Yeah. Don’t hafta tell me twice, pal. His aura’s jacked. Blacker than week-old fryer grease at Burger King.” Clint scowled. “Yeah. Actually, just stay away from him.”

“Well, I try, but I still have to take him rent-”

“No. Do it online. Or drop it in through his slot. Guy’s bad news, Bucko.”

Bucky’s brows beetled.

“M’just sayin’. Looking out for your best interests.”

Which still sounded so strange coming from a _demon_. A demon, who was warning him away from a _human_. Before Bucky’s anxiety could spike again, Clint gave his arm a light punch. 

“Hey. You’re not getting out of Zumba.”

“Just not so loud!”

“But you’ll do it?” Clint’s face brightened, and he clapped his hands.

Bucky signed. Stick a fork in him. He was done.

“YESSS!” Clint fist-pumped and turned them back to the screen. “You just follow along with the song… okay, to the right, now to the left… ROLL! WORK!”

Bucky followed awkwardly along, but Clint already had the routine memorized.

“Okay, arm up! Arch… your BACK! Arch… your BACK!”

“Oh, good Lord…” Now, Bucky felt _really_ ridiculous, but helpless laughter leaked out of him as he fucked up the footwork, resembling a baby moose calf. 

“You’ve got it! C’mon! ROLL! WORK!”

“I might pull something!”

“You’re getting it!”

Bucky always shook his head whenever he peeked at the Zumba classes through the big glass windows at his gym. They were always packed to the rafters with women in tight capris and sagging, racer-backed tank tops that said things like “Thick Thighs Save Lives,” or, “I Hate Running, But I Love PIZZA.” It was always entertaining to watch the ones who tried too hard in the front row, or the ones trying to hide themselves and follow along in the way-back. There was inevitably one or two older women who had no grasp of the choreography at all, but who showed up just for the good time. Bucky, for his own part, was more of a last-treadmill-in-the-back-of-the-cardio-section kind of guy, earbuds plugged in and hoping no one tried to talk to him once he started to sprint.

“C’mon, I know you’ve got some tango in you! Attaboy!”

Bucky kept glancing at the door, hoping no one came banging at it, but the bass was turned off, letting the music flow at him at reasonable decibels. Bucky was thankful that he didn’t have a mirror, and he just took Clint’s word for it that he was doing it.

Three minutes of Zumba left him stumbling. FIve minutes left him winded. He collapsed on the couch next to his groceries before Clint could bully him into ten.

“All Zumba’d out, huh? Can’t hang?”

“Errrrrrgggghhh…”

Clint sighed, shaking his head and reaching down to tousle Bucky’s hair. “Aw. Can’t hang. Don’t worry about it. Hey. I’m gonna fix dinner. You bought more of that spice rub, right?”

Bucky huffed as he started to rise, but Clint pushed him back down.

“Relax, Bucko. I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You’ve already paid the piper.”

Bucky’s face twisted up in confusion. “What?!”

“Zumba. You asked me once what it cost to summon me. You’re gonna occasionally hafta do me favors.”

Bucky feigned outrage, slapping his thigh. “I knew it. Nothing’s ever free.” Bucky held out his wrists, pretending to let Clint cuff them, which earned him a snicker. “Take me away, Clentehalzebub.”

“Aw! No, no! Stop that! That’s not how it works. C’mon. It’s.. it’s not that. Once in a while, y’know. I might. I might push you out of your comfort zone. Like. Maybe, I’ll ask you to lighten up a little. On yourself.”

Bucky frowned, tsking under his breath. He reached for the remote, changing the channel to the soccer match. “Pretty big favor, buddy. Think I’d rather give you blood.”

Clint rubbed his nape. “Yeah. I get that impression. Hey. Sit tight. I’m making ravioli.”


End file.
